


Star Trek Characters Never Go Shopping

by orphan_account



Series: Drabbles [18]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Lots of pack feels/headcanons, M/M, The sterek is very very light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles stands in front of the hair gel before dialing Derek’s number.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Do you all use the same hair gel or do I have to buy something different for each of you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Star Trek Characters Never Go Shopping

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on tumblr requested Stiles shopping for the pack, and at the very very very end it got a little Sterek-y

Stiles grabs two carts, just to be safe. It earns him some weird looks, but he cares more about practicality than reputation, really.

Mumbling and grumbling angrily all the way, Stiles heads first to the produce. He pulls out his phone and clicks  _Produce_  on his grocery list app: Erica wants bananas, Boyd wants apples, Isaac has a new fascination with eating lemons whole, and Derek demands peppers in everything. Jackson says that too much fruit kills the enamel on his teeth but Stiles grabs him some oranges anyways, because really who doesn’t like oranges?

As Stiles speeds through each item on the list—enough bagels to feed a platoon and enough wheat bread to feed a small country, cakes because Erica and Lydia get vicious if there isn’t something rich and chocolate-y within walking distance, sixteen bags of chips that will only actually get them through the next four days as opposed to the next eight like it’s supposed to.

He goes through the meat, because it’s on the way to the wine, which Lydia insists on getting even though she drinks it once a week. He grabs turkey meat, for burgers, and enough steaks for everyone but himself—cooking them practically raw on an almost regular basis makes them less and less appetizing—and instead grabs a package of pulled pork for those nights.

He grabs a turkey, for his dad’s, and some chicken breasts just for something different.

Stiles stares at the lunchables, wondering how much of a headstart he’d have if he gave them to the pups—Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, that is. Deciding it’s worth the risk of evisceration, he grabs a few different kinds for each, even some for Scott because he’d pout otherwise, before moving on.

Stiles tapped at his app, checking off tank tops—all of Derek’s were bloody, ripped, or in the wash—cat liter, because Lydia’s new kitten was a beast of disgusting proportions, half n half because he was the only person in the house who liked actual creamer, and paper towels.

Stiles makes a detour for some actual towels, because all of there are bloody, ripped, or in the wash.

Stiles stands in front of the hair gel before dialing Derek’s number.

“What?”

“Do you all use the same hair gel or do I have to buy something different for each of you.”

“Just get Axe.”

“Are you sure? Is that what Isaac uses?”

“Isaac and Erica share, and Erica buys her every time she drives up to North Hills.”

Stiles blinks. “They share? Explains the curls.”

“Stiles, trying to train.”

“Right. So, Axe? Which one?”

“Anything but chocolate.”

“Okay.”

“Or the for her stuff.”

“I happen to think it spells lovely.”

“Werewolves aren’t supposed to smell lovely.”

Stiles laughs so hard and for so long that Derek hangs up on him. Stiles grabs the for her stuff anyways.

Stiles avoids it as much as he can. For as long as he can. He even buys some lipstick he remembers Lydia mentioned she wanted. He grabs a couple new books, some cook books—because hey, Derek’s paying, no skin off his back. He grabs an assorted pack of glitter gel pens and because Derek and Isaac can’t share worth shit, Stiles doubles back for more.

Stiles, eventually, can’t hold off any longer because it’s either go now or get the frozen stuff and then allow the frozen stuff to melt.

Sighing, ignoring the glaring displays of condoms in front of him, he dials Derek’s number again.

“Which condoms do I buy?”

“What?”

“Dude, like everyone in your pack is banging someone else in your pack, and I don’t know about you but I don’t want any werebabies.”

“There won’t be any werebabies.”

“There won’t if I buy condoms.”

Derek groans and calls for the rest of the pack to gather around.

Stiles grabs each requested box—and a few types of lube, which has him blushing far too much. He’s about to hang up when he hears the click of a phone being taken off Speaker mode, but not hung up. “Uh, yeah?”

“Grab a box of what you want.”

Stiles laughs. “Dude, I’m not banging anyone any time soon.”

“Maybe if you buy them, you will be. Lube, too.”

_Click_.

Stiles stares at his phone, the condoms, then back and forth before an older woman jostles him and makes him drop the three boxes he was already holding. He tosses those into the cart and grabs a box that seems appealing enough, and some strawberry lube because who doesn’t like strawberries?

He barely remembers buying the frozen stuff.

He barely remembers driving home.

All he really remembers is Derek yelling for the pack to carry the nine billion dollars worth of groceries inside and put them away while he drags Stiles upstairs.


End file.
